The Battlefable Chronicles 2: Mayhem in the Empire
by Brother Andyn
Summary: This is a story of mighty heroes, dark warlords and evil deeds. It is a story of the emnity between the forces of Light and the minions of Darkness.


The Battlefable Chronicles A history of warring armies in the savage world of Warhammer This is a story, of great battles and mighty heroes, dark warlords and evil deeds. This tome recounts the events written in blood upon the battlefields of the Old World and tells of the great enmity between the forces of Good, and the minions of Darkness. _Scribed by Brother Andyn_ _Part II:_

Wulfhir the Strong

Wulfhir, ex-Imperial Knight, Protector of Waiftowne, and sympathizer of the Guardians of Taal, galloped out from the partially ruined gatehouse of the village. Alongside him rode Wolfgang, the Priest of the Taal.

'What chance do you think we have?' he asked the bearded, cloaked mage.

'I think it depends on what sort of opposition we are up against,' replied Wolfgang, hefting his wooden staff in one hand. 'The villagers say that at least fifty men approach.'

'I sincerely hope there are not that many,' Wulfhir gasped. 'We have only thirty swordsmen and half that number of militiamen.'

'Well, we shall see,' the wise old man reassured the ex-Knight. 'Only time will tell.'

When the Gylthar came, they were numbered around forty fighting men. All were horn-helmed, most were axe-wielding. At their head marched the Chieftain, Varanor Hornhelm, and his Sorcerer Svenlok. Flames licked around his infernal staff, and Wolfgang immediately recognised a Wizard of Fire. As the Northmen emerged from the fringes of the Great Forest, the swordsmen and militia readied their weapons, expecting bloodshed. There were no missile troops on either side, or any war machines or cavalry. The battle would be bloody indeed – there would be much hacking and slashing of the infantry in terrible close combat.

And blood was spilt, as the brutal Greatblades of Ragnarik Frostblade engaged the militia of Waiftowne. While speeding fireballs were dispelled amidst flashes of bright light. Wizard fought Wizard for magical supremacy. But the winds of magic did not blow strongly, and the might of men prevailed, as combat was fierce. It was not long before the Horns of the Gylthar, bodyguard of Varanor broke through the defences of the swordsmen and ran them down, cutting off their heads and staining the earth with crimson splendour. All were killed; none escaped the fury of Varanor's gift from the Gods – his enchanted Axe of Battle. But the militiamen were tough, and although they fled, they outran the Greatblades, leading them into a deadly trap. The barbarians were flanked by Wulfhir, and rear-charged by the Wizard of Taal, and soon they broke ranks and were destroyed. Wolfgang severed the head of Ragnarik and waved it at the Marauders, to show defiance and to prove the worth of the southern men: they were not as weak as the Northmen may see them. Svenlok's body vanished in a cloud of red dust, much to the resentment of Wolfgang, for no magical duel had taken place, due the day's weak winds. But then the skies broke and down poured galleon upon galleon of rain, forcing both armies to withdraw. The losses on both sides were horrific, an entire contingent of swordsmen and a whole pack of raiders. Wulfhir had fought well, but as he and Wolfgang retreated with the militia behind the walls of Waiftowne, Varanor and his remaining Marauders fled into the depths of the Great Forest, no doubt to plan his next, insidious move…

'We will send a rider into the surrounding lands,' Wulfhir declared, his beard bristling, 'to plea for reinforcements. If the Gylthar are to stage another attack soon, we must have more troops in order to repel them.'

'He speaks the truth, my good men,' Wolfgang shouted. 'The Guardians of Taal are fighting against other foes at this time. Which one of you can ride fast?'

And so a cry for help went out into Stirland and northern Averland, asking for experienced, fighting men to come to the aid of Waiftowne.

Wulfhir the Weak

'I was informed that you need my help,' Lord Baenjamin von Hardtkaur explained, as he rode through Waiftowne, accompanied by Wulfhir and Wolfgang.

'Of course, we are very grateful that you arrived to assist us,' Wulfhir told the young noble, eyeing Baenjamin's glinting, steel, full-plate. You have many black-powder weapons, yes?'

'I do,' grunted Baenjamin, 'two regiments of Imperial Handgunners, a Great Cannon and a Helblaster. They are in top condition, and will destroy the enemy that harries your village.'

'Excellent. Let us go to prepare the defences immediately, shall we?'

Together, the three riders sped towards the northern gate of Waiftowne.

It was evening. The wan light of the sun was disappearing behind the western hills and the sky was tinged a dusty pink. Wulfhir dreaded a night battle, but he was not to be disappointed. The Gylthar approached Waiftowne and began their attack. With the barbarians marched many, many Beastmen, and the earth shook under the impact of thundering hooves. Bleating and bestial war cries split the air, and it was then that the monsters emerged from the forest. Three, massive, brutish creatures, led by Svenlok, mounted on a dark steed, began their entry onto the killing ground. They were Chaos Trolls, huge and mutated, with spines growing from their backs, grotesque claws and additional limbs. Wulfhir suppressed a gasp of horror, and then the shooting started. Cannon balls flew, bursts of smoke heralded the voices of the Handguns, and loud explosive bursts erupted from the Helblaster as it poured forth its cargo of destructive power. Amid the noise, shouted commands and cries of despair, Wulfhir watched as the Marauders' army was torn apart by the effects of the guns. Svenlok and one of his Trolls were crushed; the packs of Beastmen were devastated and ranks of barbarian raiders were scythed down by gunfire. Wulfhir marveled at this new technology and its demolishing effects – was this not the power mankind needed to drive back the Hordes of Chaos from the northern borders? Wolfgang, too, was impressed. Surely the nest of Handgunners was doing their job well, for even when the last Troll attacked them in close, they repulsed the foul beast in disciplined order. But then a gigantic explosion from behind their own lines tore through the other sounds. Cursing, Wulfhir spat upon the ground as he witness the Helblaster torn asunder by a malfunction. A column of black smoke arose and Wulfhir once again became critical of his ally's weapons. Perhaps they could not be trusted after all, he thought, casting a cautious glance towards the State Troops carrying Handguns.

It was time to fight – one of the Marauder regiments had survived the fullisade of ammunition relatively untouched, and had engaged the swordsmen. Once again the weak men were destroyed, and Wulfhir followed Baenjamin von Hardtkaur on the charge. Vicious combat ensued, but the steel-clad warrior held firm. Wolfgang's magic had little effect, but he helped where he could. Before long, the sun was gone and it began to get dark. The Beastmen had fled, and many Marauders had been slain. But Varanor Hornhelm and the Horns of the Gylthar fought on, battling for blood and honour. A howl, followed by a horn sounded in the forest, and red eyes gleamed in the shadows. Looking up, Lord Hardtkaur knew that reinforcements were on their way. They would stand little chance against the overwhelming hordes, which cared not how many they lost to missiles. As more Beastmen burst from the tree line, Wulfhir screamed and retreated, blood flowing from a wound in his leg. Not even looking at Baenjamin, the cowardly man fled the field, screeching that they were all doomed and the world had come to an end. Wolfgang followed, shouting to Baenjamin that indeed it was time to flee; the village would be lost. Making a tactical withdrawal, Lord Hardtkaur and his remaining men retreated, leaving the militia on their own to fight the oncoming monsters.

'I had no choice but to leave them,' Baenjamin reasoned to one his men, as the column marched south. 'The number of Beastmen emerging from the Great Forest…I had to withdraw if I was to keep the majority of the men alive. Plus, after the betrayal of that coward Wulfhir, I realised that we still have to catch up with William, and the rest of the army. The Border Princes await.'

Dismissal

The council chamber of the Templars of Taal boomed with the many voices of the debating chiefs.

'We have confirmed reports that the Beasts are regrouping. Surely the attacks on the villages of Ostermark and Stirland are evidence enough.'

'I agree, the Beastmen are on the move! We must move against them!'

'How many times must I say – the Beastmen are not our primary concern here. The Orcs are rampaging through the southern regions – already they have destroyed three villages in the last week!'

'It is the Beastmen who are more of a threat! They are attacking from within the forests!'

'It is neither the Beastmen nor the Orcs who are causing the most recent trouble! The Gylthar have allied with the Beastmen, and are at this very moment, preparing to attack again!'

'And where did you get this preposterous information?'

'Wulfhir, one of our own!'

'You trust the word of that rebel? He is an imposter! A revolutionist! He is threatening to undermine the very fabric of the Empire!' There was a great rumble of approval.

'He could be engaged in battle right now for all you know! I tell you, the man is a Champion of the people! We must march to Waiftowne, where the Gylthar are going to strike!'

'Ridiculous. There are more pressing matters at hand – such as the Orcs! Wulfhir is a coward. It is time we dealt with him. Upon his return, I say we vote for his dismissal! Who is with me?' A show of a great many hands was raised. At that moment, the doors to the chamber bust open and the bloodied Wulfhir stumbled in, accompanied by the Taal Priest Wolfgang.

'The Gylthar have struck again! You must head for Waiftowne immediately! You must save the village!'

'And what will you be doing when we are fighting your war?' Wulfhir made as if to stumble but the Templars knew the wound wasn't genuine.

'We will be doing no such thing. I think we need to take a vote.'

'What? There are people who will die, by the hand of the barbarians! You must save them!'

'All those in favour of expelling the renegade Templar, Wulfhir, from our midst, raise your right hand.' Wulfhir gasped then spluttered, protesting.

'No! You can't dismiss me! Not when I'm, I'm…'

'You're what, Wulfhir?'

Wolfgang eyed his master, questioningly. The vast majority of the Templars' right hands were raised.

'Then it is done. You, Wulfhir, are forthwith expelled from the Templars of Taal. I don't know who you really are, or what you really believe, but we do not want you here. Now, begone.'

'Come, friend,' Wolfgang murmured to the stunned Wulfhir. 'You can tell me what you've done wrong on the way…'

The Insect and the Lion

'What's that, up ahead?' William asked the acting general of Baenjamin von Hardtkaur's army. The marching column of Empire troops stopped as the armoured man gestured, his warhorse grinding its hooves in the dust.

'Where?'

William pointed his staff, at a moving mass of shadows, coming down between the trees in the foothills of the Grey Mountains.

'We're about to be ambushed,' breathed the young Wizard, 'prepare the machines!'

'Do it,' snapped the general, turning to a Sergeant behind him.

The Wood Elf patrol had moved to intercept the Imperial threat, or an invisible threat that they deemed was to be quelled. Indeed, Lord von Hardtkaur's army had no intention of invading Athel Loren, they had plenty of supplies already. But all the same, Glade Riders galloped forth to attack the Empire battle line. Up against such an array of gunfire, they stood no chance as the weapons of black powder scythed them all down. Only the Wood Elf general and his unicorn riding mage were left, amidst a pool of corpses, elf and steed alike. 'What is this, new devilry?' the general thought. And then the barrels of death were turned on him and his mage.

Arrows from the Wood Elf army rained down on the Spearmen, but the casualties caused were little, and only the Great Eagles emerging from the southern foothills managed to engage the crew of one of the deadly machines, the mortar. With a flurry of snapping beaks and slashing claws, the men died, torn apart by the vengeful birds. But a solid cannon ball ended one's life, and the other flew away, high into the sky.

The ambush had failed, and the Empire forces converged on the archers in the foothills. Ordering a swift retreat, the hawk-eyed archer leading them sent a last arrow towards the Imperial troops. But still the men came on, sending cannon balls ahead of them along with blasts from mortal shells. For the mortar had been re-manned, the smart engineer taking the dead crews' place. Only two elves survived the onslaught as they fled into the Grey Mountains. Satisfied that they would not be troubled again, William and the acting general turned their formations towards the south.

'Like an insect swept away by the claws of a mighty lion,' William said proudly, as the army of von Hardtkaur marched southeast. 'That's how we defeated them.'

'It was a great victory,' agreed the general. 'Soon we will make Blackfire Pass. And then we will be able to tell Lord Hardtkaur of this honourable triumph against the elven raiders.'

'He will be pleased at this additional evidence of the worthiness of his force,' the Sergeant declared.

'That he will,' William concurred.

Claws of Taal

Marius Von Talin, rightful leader for the Templars of Taal, rode at the head of his army, consisting of many men from Stirland, Talabecland and Ostermark. The threat of the Gylthar had been advertised, and volunteers and conscripts alike flocked to join the force. Now they rode to attack the camp of the Marauders, on the fringes of the Great Forest.

'Do you think we will be able to defeat them?' Wolfgang, Priest of Taal, voiced his concerns.

'There is no doubt,' answered Von Talin. 'We have the blessing of the Nature God, and will not fail.' He looked across at his glittering Templars. 'And we have the mighty prowess of the Riders of Taal.'

The massive host of men attacked the enemy encampment at dawn as the sun rose, throwing a pale, golden light over the field. The Riders of Taal charged in, breaking the back of the foes' army before it could organise itself into an effective, fighting force. The marauders were crushed and trampled, the beastmen impaled and driven back into the forests, and the Daemonic Black Squalls summoned by the evil sorcerer, Svenlok, banished to the Realm of Chaos. Svenlok himself was also felled, his black spirit rising and vanishing into the ether. Varanor Hornhelm retreated, swearing oaths of blood and vengeance, for this surely was not over. But it was a great victory for the Guardians of Taal. Over half the Norscans had been destroyed, and this must mean that the entire raiding force had been severely depleted.

Heavy Retaliation

'We strike now!' Marius Von Talin roared. 'Before they regroup and organise reinforcements.'

'But our forces are also depleted,' argued another chief. 'By the time we gather together another army they will have what troops they need to resist a further attack.'

'That is why we strike now! We rally what soldiers we do have and influence others to join our cause. Surely there are more in Wurtbad who would fight against the Gylthar, or from other parts of Stirland, Ostermark and Talabecland. We send out messengers for hard-bitten, fighting men. There will be no time for training. Has a courier been dispatched to the Emperor?'

'One has, as yet we have no word of reply, and he was sent a week ago.'

'Then send another! I go to summon the army! Praise to Taal!'

Von Talin bounded from his chair and his Templars followed with a clank of armour. Soon the hoofbeats of the warhorses could be heard as the Riders of Taal thundered across the bridge and into Stirland. As the other chiefs sat, stunned, Sergeant Berolf stamped his halberd haft against the stone floor.

'I'm with Marius. Infantry will be standing by shortly.'

'I concur,' Sergeant Gunter said gruffly, and the two men left the chamber.

The army was raised, and struck the unruly remnants of the Gylthar heavily, smashing aside the beastmen and warriors and trolls with the godlike wrath of Taal. But the Marauders stuck back with brutal efficiency, annihilating the missile contingents with fire and flame, Svenlok's deadly spells taking full effect and reducing men to cinders and ash. Such was the bloodshed and carnage, the clash of steel and cries of the dying, the mayhem and the slaughter, that the only regiments left on the field were the generals of both sides, with their magic users and cavalry. With barely enough troops to command, Marius Von Talin and Varanor Hornhelm snarled their oaths of binding hatred and vowed to destroy each other in time.

Word of the coming of the Chosen One had spread throughout the Northlands. Messengers of Archaon visited many of the Tribes of Chaos, declaring that they should either swear allegiance to the Lord of the End Times, or die. Such a messenger soon came to the Hall of Gylthar and gave them the choice. The present warriors assured him that the Gylthar would most probably join the Dark Lord, but for confirmation, a band of Marauders was sent south to the Empire, where the Chieftain was fighting.

Several months had passed as the wars continued between the Gylthar and the Guardians of Taal. Finally, the Marauders from Norsca arrived and Varanor swore allegiance to Archaon. When the Dark Lord's messengers gained this information, it was decided that the Gylthar's position could be used to launch devastating attacks on the Empire from within.

A contingent of troops from one of the greatest armies loyal to Archaon was immediately dispatched south, to link up with Varanor's forces and carve out a bastion in the heart of the Great Forest.

Infantry and Cavalry

On the outskirts of Stirland, the Guardians met the Gylthar warriors yet again. Setting up their missile troops on the hills, the Talin infantry began the march forwards, towards the surging infantry of the enemy: Beastmen in great numbers. On the west flank, the Marauder infantry advanced, and the east flank looked as if it would be captured by cavalry supported by infantry: The Riders of Taal, aided by the swordsmen, or the Huntsmen of Thundersquall, backed by Hornhelm's Brutes. When combat came, it was in the centre of the field, as Halberdiers, Militia and Beastmen clashed. But the fighting was brief – within minutes the beasts were defeated, routed and killed. It was a savage blow to the Gylthar forces. Now the Talin infantry turned their attention in two directions: the halberdiers to the captured west flanks, the militia to the marauding trolls. As the Marauders charged into the ranks of the halberdiers, and the swordsmen and militia fought desperately against the terribly mutated chaos beasts, the cavalry of Marius Von Talin were separated from the action. Attempting urgently to maneuver within the confines of the hills and the nearby swamps, the Riders slowly followed their infantry allies, but they were too late. The Marauder cavalry rear charged the swordsmen, sweeping them away in a tide of horns, hooves, steel and war cries. The militia fled in panic, pursued by the bellowing monsters. Many men had died. But finally the Riders of Taal took their part in close combat, engaging the flank of Hornhelm's Brutes and breaking the pack upon the tips of their righteous lances. It seemed that cavalry had won the day, as the Huntsmen of Thundersquall made a swift retreat, unscathed but not prepared to meet their enemy on Von Talin's terms.

And yet, in the western hills, the battle raged on between the Marauders and the Halberdiers, with a minor advantage to the crude but powerful barbarians. Infantry vs infantry, it was a near-match of opposing regiments. Only time would tell who the victor of this combat would be…

Crusading Might

With the Gylthar and chaos raiders getting out of hand, the Emperor Karl Franz sent some of his greatest generals to gather their armies. Joining with the Guardians of Taal, the combined forces of the Empire swept aside the warbands of chaos and Norscans, slaying hundreds. Then the hunt began, to kill as many of the invaders as possible or to drive them back into the northern wastes.

Over the next few months, the strategy primarily succeeded. Gylthar leaders Varanor Hornhelm and Svenlok were forced to retreat across the Sea of Claws back to Norsca, and the majority of the chaos armies were destroyed. The only factions that remained in the Empire fled into the deepest parts of the forests, where no men could pursue. It was these creatures that were to rise up and create a new era, of pillaging, devastation and destruction…


End file.
